A Twist for Newkirk
by Prowler4
Summary: A Hogan's Heroes/Animorph crossover. Newkirk accidently gets the ability to morph. Can he cope? Will he keep them or not? Chapter Four is up. Please R&R.
1. Prologue

I had to delete this. Hopefully its better now.

I do not own Hogan's Heroes or any of the characters.

* * *

**One month ago…**

The mission had gone well. Another train had been blown up, and the Gestapo guarding it were too confused to chase the saboteurs. The mood was cheerful as Hogan and his men made their way back to Stalag 13.

Newkirk walked next to Carter, following the colonel. LeBeau was scouting ahead and behind for any possible patrols. The forest was quiet in the aftermath of the explosion, the only light was a faint orange smudge above the tree to the north.

And a faint blue glow from some bushes off to Newkirk's left.

As he caught sight of the glow, he stopped walking and stared at it. Carter went about five more steps before he realized the Englishman wasn't with him. Turning, he asked, "Newkirk?"

Hogan heard, and he also stopped and looked back. "What's up?" he called.

Still staring at the glow, Newkirk called, "I found something, Colonel." He started towards the bushes.

Hogan retraced his steps until he stood next to Carter. "Be careful, Corporal. It could be a trap."

Nodding, Newkirk reached the bushes. Kneeling, he pushed aside the branches obstructing his view, revealing the source of the glow. Eyes wide, he gave a low whistle.

Carter was shifting from foot to foot, his curiosity mounting. Just as he was about to speak, Hogan put a hand over his mouth, just knowing that, in his excitement, the young sergeant would forget caution and talk louder than was prudent under those circumstances. Thus, it was the colonel who asked, "What is it?". Then he removed his hand.

Shooting his CO a sheepish look, Carter added in an exaggerated whisper, "Can we see it?"

Motioning them over, Newkirk continued to gaze at the object.

"It's a small cube," he said.

His companions crouched next to him and gazed at the thing that held their friend's attention.

That object was a small blue box. It seemed to glow with an inner light, and by that light they could make out strange glyphs etched onto its sides.

The men were silent for a time, then Carter said, "I wonder what those symbols are?"

Hogan chuckled. _Just like Carter,_ he thought. _Instead of asking "What is it?", "Why is it here?", or "How did it get here?", he wants to know about the decoration!_

Newkirk's eyes never strayed, but a small grin lit upon his face as he, too, had that some thought. He started to pick it up.

"Hold on, Newkirk," Hogan said. "What if its dangerous?"

Now the corporal turned to face his CO. "Sir, its a box," he pointed out. "'ow could the Krauts booby-trap it? Its too small!"

"But its still a fair size," chimed Carter.

Newkirk rolled his eyes. "Fine," he said, exasperated. "Stand back if you want, but _I_ want a closer look at it." Again he reached for the box.

As soon as he touched it, shock spread across his face. Then he yanked his hand away, swearing.

"What happened?" Hogan asked, eyeing to box warily.

Newkirk paused long enough to say, "The bloody bugger shocked me, gov'nor! It _shocked_ me!" Then he went back to massaging his hand and continued cursing.

"Well, it is kinda cold out," Carter observed.

"Maybe it is, but it didn't just twinge my hand; my whole arm feels like I used it as a lightning rod!"

"Okay, tone it down, Newkirk. Remember, we don't want to announce our presence to every German in the area. So keep quiet."

"Yes, sir."

Suddenly, they heard footfalls behind them. Spinning, they all looked to see LeBeau sprinting in their direction. In the distance, shouting and gunshots could be heard.

Panting, the Frenchman skidded to a stop and said, "Patrol, _mon Colonel_, from the west. They may have seen me, but I didn't wait to find out."

Hogan already had his gun out. "Okay, let's move," he ordered. Silently, the prisoners of Stalag 13 melted into the shadows and resumed their flight back to camp.

It was only when they were walking down the tunnel that Hogan, Carter, and Newkirk remembered the blue box. But when Newkirk returned from searching for it the next day, he reported no trace of it. The cube had disappeared.

* * *

**Nine days ago…**

"One of our contacts in the Underground needs a new part for their radio. Any volunteers?"

Carter looked up. "Colonel, didn't we just send them a new piece?" he asked, referring to last week when they had to smuggle out a bit of radio equipment using Freddy the chimpanzee.

Hogan grimaced and shook hi head. "This is someone else. It seems all our contacts received their radios two years ago and their warranty is just now beginning to expire."

"Oh, bloody 'ell!" Newkirk threw down the cards he had just dealt himself. "Is this what London wants up to do now? Become ruddy repairmen?"

"Easy, Newkirk," Hogan soothed. "It won't be for long. You'll see: within a month we'll be back doing reconnaissance and sabotage again."

Still muttering, the RAF corporal dealt another round of cards to the players.

Hogan glanced at his and gave a mental wince. _That's not good._

Predictably, Newkirk won the game. Pocketing his winnings, he looked over at the colonel and said, "Sir, I'll deliver the piece. I need to get outta here for a while anyway. Startin' to feel a wee bit cramped lately."

"Okay, Newkirk. You leave tonight."

**********

A while after Newkirk left, Kinch walked over to where Hogan sat.

"Colonel?"

The senor POW glanced up, then patted the spot next to him. He waited for Kinch to settle himself before asking, "What's up?"

"News over the radio, sir."

"From London?"

"No, local station. There was a news bulletin saying that the Hammelburg zoo finished catching all the escaped animals--with one exception."

Hogan frowned. "Am I going to like this?"

Shaking his head, Kinch replied, "Not a bit."

Scowling, the colonel asked, "Will you tell me, or do I have to guess? Come on, sergeant. Out with it!"

Looking his commander in the eye, Kinch said, "A tiger managed to get through the search zone. Witnesses say they've seen it traveling in this direction. A little over an hour ago, there was a sighting of it not two miles from camp."

Hogan's face went pale. "Any way of getting to Newkirk in time?"

Again, Kinch shook his head. "No. He's long gone."

"Any chance of their not encountering each other?"

"If there is, it's a mighty slim one."

They sat in silence a long time after that.

**********

Newkirk hurried through the woods. He had met an agent who would get the radio part to the contact.

"_Piece o' pie" as Andrew would say_, he thought, grinning. Carter never said "cake", no matter how many times the others would correct him. _Been meaning to ask 'im why he does that._

A chill breeze swept by him, causing him to shiver and clutch his coat tight around his body. _Bloody German winters!_ It had been weeks since the temperature had been above fifty degrees, and it was dropping steadily each day. Newkirk was not looking foreword to when it started snowing. _Then we'll all freeze our bloody tails off whenever we go out on a mission, not to mention whenever we leave the barracks!_ No, he was not looking foreword to winter in Germany at all.

As he walked, he gradually got the feeling that he was being watched. Cautious, he took his gun from where he had hidden it in his coat. Gripping it tightly, he peered into the woods around him, half expecting to see a Gestapo patrol. But he saw nothing.

He ducked under a tree to escape the wind, if only for a moment, and stood there, shivering, still searching for hidden figures in the shadows.

The sense of being watched hit him again, stronger now. Tense, he crouched down, ready to defend himself if necessary.

Then he heard the growl.

Instantly, Newkirk froze. The growl rolled through the air through _him_. It froze him where he stood as nothing else had ever done before. Fear started to creep up his spine.

It sounded close, way too close. After a minute, he pinpointed it.

Swallowing, he looked up.

Two yellow eyes glared down at him from the branches of the tree. The creeping tendrils of fear threatened to overwhelm him and he felt like screaming, but he could only stand there, terrified. Staring into those eyes, Newkirk couldn't see anything else. Then they blinked and he caught a glimpse of orange and black. Despite his paralysis, he managed to choke out one word.

"Mum."

Then he bolted.

Running flat out through the dark woods, he heard a roar as the tiger leaped after him. Mind blank with fear and panic, Newkirk ran faster than he though possible, but it wasn't enough. With another roar, the great cat leaped, paws outstretched. One of those paws caught his leg and he went sprawling. His gun, forgotten the moment he saw the beast, flew out of his hand.

Scrambling to get up and keep running, the Englishman screamed as the tiger sank its claws into his side. He grabbed at the paw and feebly tried to pull it off him, to end the pain. All he could think about was a film he had seen as a child, in England, of some lions hunting a herd of antelope. Again he saw the lions bring down a lagging buck, but now the lion was the tiger and the buck was him, Newkirk, and again and again he saw the tiger bringing him down. Again and again…

Then the tiger froze, and slowly settled to the ground, as though about to go to sleep. Confusion entered his mind as to why this was, but then he moved and the pain was back. The claws were still dug into his flesh.

Wincing, he quickly pulled the paw off him, then shakily got to his feet. Pain exploded throughout his body as he tried to walk, and as he clasped his injured side, he felt a warm, sticky wetness. Refusing to look at the damage the tiger had done to him, he instead glanced over at the cat itself. It was still lying were he'd left it, but it was twitching. Panicked at the thought of it coming after him again, he ignored the lancing pain in his side and took off as fast as he could toward Stalag 13.

**********

Hogan was pacing back and forth in the barracks, hoping and praying that the tunnel entrance would open and Newkirk would emerge, safe, saying the mission went without a hitch. But he hadn't come back yet, and it would be a while before he did. Yet Hogan still couldn't help worrying.

The men watched him, anxious. They had all heard the news about the tiger and they worried with their colonel. But they had to wait, just as he did, to see what would happen.

Minutes passed slowly. Hogan paced. LeBeau and Carter started a half-hearted game of gin rummy. Kinch tried to read a book. Olsen and Baker just sat on their bunks, worrying in silence.

Half an hour passed. _Where is he?_ Hogan thought frantically. _He should've been back by now._

Then, just before the clock chimed the hour, a tap was heard below the tunnel entrance. As one, the men of Barracks 2 abandoned what they were doing and rushed to open it, but Hogan beat them to it. He tapped the trigger and the bunk rose. A man climbed up and into the room.

"Newkirk!" Several of the men exclaimed, but they all fell silent as the corporal turned towards them. His face was pale and scratched, one side of his jacket shredded. His right arm was pressed to his left side as he tried to stem the flow of blood that seeped from the wound below.

"I guess we didn't need to tell you of the tiger after all." Hogan whispered.

Newkirk managed a grin said cheerily, "No, you didn't need to, gov. We met and had a nice little chat, we did. So," he went on to the room at large, "Could anyone us a cup o' coffee?" He didn't wait for an answer, as his eyes rolled up and he would've fallen if Kinch hadn't regained his senses enough to catch him.

There was silence for a moment, then Hogan broke it by quietly saying, "Somebody get Wilson."

**********

Wilson finished bandaging Newkirk's side, then got up. Turning, he beckoned Hogan. He followed as the doctor headed toward his office.

Once the door had shut, Wilson turned to him and said, "He'll be all right." Hogan sighed in relief. "The cuts were pretty deep, but I've stitched them up. I'll have to recommend him to Klink for light work, though."

Running his fingers through his already-disheveled hair, Hogan murmured, "Klink. What story can I tell him that he'll believe?"

Wilson shrugged. "I don't know. But I'm sure you'll think of something."

"Thanks, doc. You can go now. I think we can take it from here."

Opening the door, Hogan followed Wilson out of the room.

A group of men had gathered around the bunk where Newkirk lay. Because the corporal would never be able to climb to the upper bed where he usually slept, Carter had offered to let him use his lower one. As he approached, Hogan could hear him talking to the men. He had woken while Hogan and Wilson had been talking.

"...thought I was lunch meat for sure. It was bloody lucky the tiger dropped when it did."

"But _how _did you manage to knock it out?" asked LeBeau.

"Blimey, I don't know!" Newkirk sounded exasperated. "I was too busy trying to get it off me! I can't remember much...I think."

"All right, boys, get going." Cut in Wilson. "This man needs rest. Doctor's orders."

Grumbling, the men went to their own bunks to prepare for bed. Nodding to Hogan, Wilson left the barracks.

Hogan went to stand next to where Newkirk lay. "I'm really sorry we couldn't get to you in time," he said softly.

Newkirk looked at his CO and saw the guilt in his face. "Its alright, Colonel. You couldn't have known." He grinned suddenly. "Besides, I've gotten my excitement. Now I won't mind being so cramped!"

Hogan smiled, but before he could speak, the door banged open and Sergeant Shultz walked in. Newkirk quickly hitched his blanket up around him to hide the bandages. "It is now nine o'clock! That means lights out, everybody, lights out!" He turned, then, and saw spied Newkirk and Carter. Walking over, he asked, "Colonel Hogan, unless I am mistaken, or forgetful, _which_ is doubtful, but isn't Carter supposed to be on the _bottom _bunk and Newkirk on the _top_?"

Looking as though he were seriously considering what Shultz said, Hogan peered at the two men on their (opposite) bunks. "No, Shultz, I can't see anything wrong. Carter has always been on the top bunk and I can't ever remember Newkirk ever being anywhere but on the bottom."

"But I could have _sworn_..."

"It's true, Shultzie," Newkirk added. "To be honest, I've never liked heights. Gives me the willies, they do."

Shultz looked confused. Finally, though, he gave up on it. Glancing at Hogan, he said, "Good night," then left.

As the door shut, Hogan again looked at Newkirk. "You sure you're all right?"

"I'm fine, gov. Stop worrying about me and get some sleep yourself. You looked bushed."

"That I probably do," his CO replied. "Very well. Good night, corporal."

"Pleasant dreams, Colonel."

Hogan walked back to his room. The lights in the barracks went out, plunging them into darkness. Newkirk gazed at the bottom of Carter's (for now) bunk. Then he closed his eyes and slept.

The dreams began.


	2. Chapter 1

Presenting Chapter One. Hope you like it.

* * *

**Present day…**

Carter opened his eyes.

The common room of the barracks was dark and quiet. He could hear the even breathing of the sleeping men around him. Moonlight leaked through the cracks of the shutters, but it wasn't enough to light the room. So what was it that woke him?

Still fuzzy from sleep, he had just rolled over to drift off again when he heard it: the harsh and heavy breathing of someone caught in a nightmare. With a snap, his mind cleared.

The past few nights, he, being a light sleeper, had been woken by the same sound every night. Knowing who it belonged to, he had at first tried ignoring it. But four nights of practically no sleep had taken its toll, and all he wanted now was to sleep. It was time to do something about it.

Quietly, so as not to waken the others, he carefully slid over the side of the bunk, flinching when his feet hit the floor. He still wasn't used to having to jump from the bunk when it was light, but in the dark, even doing so slowly, was much worse.

Pushing aside his startlement, he quickly oriented himself in the dark room, then carefully made his way over to the other end of the bunk. Crouching, he located the shoulder of the man lying there, and gently shook it. Softly, he whispered, "Newkirk?".

Suddenly, a hand clamped down on his. Biting back a yell, he tried to pry it off with his other one. But there was something odd about it. The hand almost felt as if it were….furry?

Then a voice hissed, "Blimey, Carter! What're you tryin' to do, give me a bleeding 'eart attack?"

Carter sighed. "Newkirk!" he whispered, relieved. "Geez, you gave me a scare." He peered at the Englishman, trying to make out his face in the gloom. A shaft of moonlight fell across Newkirk's face as he shifted, illuminating his eyes. Carter stared. Instead of their usual green, the corporal's eyes seemed to give off a golden glow. Then they blinked, and were green again.

"What are you starin' at?"

The younger man started. "N-nothing," he stammered, trying to figure out just what he'd seen._ I must be more tired than I thought._ Rubbing his eyes, he continued, "Just a little tired, that's all."

"Ah. Well," Newkirk said, starting to lie down again, "why don't we just all go back to sleep, then?"

"Actually Newkirk, I can't, really."

"Why not?"

"Because, you're kinda keeping me up."

Carefully, Newkirk levered himself up onto his side. "And why," he asked, slowly, "would I be doing that?"

"Well, I don't think you're doing it on purpose-"

"I had a feeling it'd be that way."

"-but the past few nights, I've been waking up hearing you panting and mumbling. I mean," here Carter faltered, wondering just what he _did_ mean, "you, well, uh…"

"Sound like I'm havin' a nightmare?"

Surprised, Carter nodded. Then, realizing Newkirk couldn't see the gesture, added, "Yeah. You sound like you're having nightmares."

Newkirk was silent for a while. Then he said, "Help me up, will you?"

Moving around to his uninjured side, Carter helped him to a sitting position. Patting the spot next to him, Newkirk indicated for the sergeant to sit. For a few seconds, he fumbled around under the pillow. Producing his lighter, he flipped it on.

Carter had to look away from the painful brightness. When he turned back, he saw that the Englander had a box of cigarettes out. Declining an offer to have one, he watched as the corporal lit one, put the lighter away, and took a few drags off it. He seemed to be calming himself. Finally, he spoke.

"How long?"

For once not needing an explanation, Carter answered, "About four days ago. Well, nights really."

Sighing, Newkirk said, "That'd be about right."

"What?"

"That's when I stopped waking up." He took another drag. "I used to wake up after it ended. Don't know why I don't anymore."

Softly, Carter replied, "Maybe you got used to them?"

Newkirk smirked humorously. "Used to them? No, I'm not used to them. Its always the same one. _It_, not _them_. And, if you've still heard me mutterin' while I slept, it seems I'm far from used to _it_."

A pause. "Want to talk about it?"

Lowering the cigarette, Newkirk exhaled loudly. "It starts out fine enough," he said. "You remember that cube we found in the woods?" Carter nodded; he'd almost forgotten about it. "Well, I always see it, right in front of me, as if I'm holding it." He cupped his hands carefully in front of him to demonstrate, mindful of the cigarette. "Its just sittin' there, and I'm seeing the glow and the symbols. I feel like I can understand them if I only gaze at it long enough.

"Then the tiger is there." His voice went flat. "I never saw it run, because _I_ was too busy runnin' myself, but in the dream I can see it leaping through the woods. There is grace and power to it, and I can start to admire the beast. It leaps….and there I am, reliving that night." The corporal was shaking now, as he remembered. Carter put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.

"That's not the worst of it." Newkirk was speaking so softly now, Carter had to lean in to hear. "As it leaps, I _become_ the tiger; I know how it feels and what it thinks. And when it takes me down…" he swallowed and took a deep breath. "Its very…disturbing. It's like I know what went on in its head that night." He was trembling so badly, Carter had to remove the cigarette before he burned himself.

"It was only a dream, Newkirk. It'll take some time, but then you'll forget all about it."

Newkirk shook his head. "I don't think so, Andrew. It feels too different, too _real_."

Carter shrugged. "Don't all dreams feel real?"

"Yeah, but this feels too real to be a simple dream! I keep thinking that it means something, like something's gonna happen or…oh, I don't know," he groaned, scrubbing at his eyes. Slumping against the wall, he muttered, "I'm so tired."

"We ought to get back to sleep," Carter said, getting up. Searching the table for an ashtray, he thought about what the corporal had said. _Poor Newkirk!_ he thought. _I wish I could do something for him. But I think this is one thing he'll have to work out on his own._

He found the ashtray and dropped the cigarette in it, then turned back to the bunk.

Newkirk still lay slumped against the wall, but he was fast asleep. Mindful of his stitches, Carter gently straightened him out on the bunk, then climbed back up to his own. Just as he was closing his eyes, he heard a mutter from below. Sighing, he fervently hoped Newkirk would solve his problem soon so they could _both_ get some rest.

**********

Newkirk sat at the table, pencil in hand, paper before him, sketching. It was times like these, when the room was empty and quiet, that he would take some time to relax in some form or fashion. Lately, he had been drawing.

As he drew, he thought about what he had told Carter the night before. It had been a relief to finally talk to somebody about his problem, but he was still slightly frustrated that he couldn't properly explain it. _How else could I have said it? "As it leaps, I become the tiger". Might as well say I grew fur, a tail, and turned orange and black; it would still come out wrong._

Sighing, he finished one drawing, then grabbed another paper and started a second. _Why do I keep having this dream, anyhow?_ he thought angrily. _I would've thought it'd go away after a few days, or come spasmodically. But no, its been more than a week now, and still I have it. And why do I keep seeing that blue box?_

The door opened then and the colonel came in, propelled by a blast of cold air. Newkirk had to grab his drawings to keep them from flying off.

"Lord Almighty, its cold out there!" Hogan exclaimed, rubbing his arms.

"You don't need to prove it, gov'nor," Newkirk joked. "Next time, leave the evidence _outside_ the barracks and I swear, I'll take your word for it."

Hogan laughed as he waked over to where Newkirk sat. Plopping into a chair, he noticed the drawings.

"What'cha got there, Newkirk?"

The Englishman glanced down. "Nothing really, sir," he muttered. "Just some drawings I did."

"Let me see," Hogan said, holding out his hand.

Reluctantly, Newkirk handed them over. Hogan glanced at his suddenly-nervous corporal, then looked at the first drawing.

A tiger stared up at him from the paper. Every detail stood out, from the tufts of fur around its ears to the teeth that were bared in a snarl. Stunned, Hogan looked over at Newkirk and said, "This is amazing! I never knew you could draw!"

Newkirk flushed, then started inspecting his pencil. He replied, "Well, its not something I generally make a living out of. Drawin' just helps me to relax, to get away from it all. I never thought it important enough to mention."

Nodding his understanding, the colonel went back to studying the sketch. "Why the tiger?" he asked.

Newkirk glanced up at his CO and said, "Truth be told, gov, that there drawing is of how the tiger looked when I first saw it, up in that tree."

Hogan understood. The corporal had told him how he had encountered the big cat. Curious, he asked, "Why draw it, though?"

"I don't really know, Colonel."

Accepting the answer, Hogan flipped to the next drawing. He gazed at it uncomprehendingly for a moment before asking, "What is this?"

The sketch was half-finished, yet there were enough details for the colonel to grasp what it was portraying. It was a drawing of a man, half-crouched, as though he were trying to hide. Striped ran down the side of his neck and the exposed skin of his arms and hands. His feet were bare and his toes seemed to be melting into each other, while his nails had become claws. But what was odd was his head. A muzzle, like a cat's, seemed to be pushing its way out of his face, yet the eyes were human. The ears were pointed, also like a cat's, and seemed to be caught in the motion of moving up along the sides of his head. All in all, the drawing reminded Hogan of a picture he once saw in a horror story describing a person transforming into a werewolf.

Newkirk also looked at the sketch. He seemed confused. "I don't remember drawin' this one, Colonel."

Hogan set the drawing on top of the first and said, "How can you not remember drawing something like that? It's the kind of thing that sticks in your memory for a while."

"Well, I was kinda occupied with something," replied the corporal. He looked at the colonel. "You won't mention this to the others, will you? About my drawin', I mean. I'd rather they didn't know."

"I don't see why you would want to keep it a secret," Hogan said. "But I won't say anything if you don't want me too."

"Thanks, gov."

Just then, the entrance to the tunnel opened and Kinch's head popped out. "Message from London, sir," he said.

"Be right with you, Kinch."

Nodding, the sergeant ducked back down the ladder. Clapping the corporal's shoulder, Hogan got up and followed him. Newkirk sat there a few moments longer gazing, deep in thought, at his drawings. Then he picked them up and went to put them in his footlocker. As he did so, his eyes caught the light from the lamps overhead, and it seemed that they shone gold.


	3. Chapter 2

Sorry this is late. If you're mad at me, though, rest assured that this and the next chapter tormented me for the whole month. I know I don't describe the morphing process very good in this chapter, but I'm planning on it. In the Animorph series, you have to be concentrating on the animal you wish to morph, but since Newkirk doesn't know this, I'm focusing on how he was feeling at the moment he did. Sorry if that was a kind of let-down; I know I wish I had described it better. It sounds kind of...I don't know, melodramatic? Overkill? Please tell me what you think.

Geez, that's the longest A/N I've ever written so far. Anyways, on with the show!

* * *

Hogan and Kinch crept silently through the dark woods towards the meeting place. The message from London had included orders to meet with an agent from the Underground to get information on an ammo dump they had to blow up. Yet another much-too-simple job.

But despite the supposed ease of tonight's mission, Hogan couldn't help worrying. London had also sent along a request for the Underground to knock off a Kraut general who was providing funding for some sort of project against the Allies. Headquarters didn't know what it was, but they wanted it stopped. They had sent the general's schedule and a map of his house with the orders. LeBeau, Carter, and Newkirk had volunteered to meet with the contact who would relay it to the cell unit that would do the job. But he worried about Newkirk.

Wilson had taken the Englishman's stitches out only a few hours before and okayed him for active duty, provided he didn't strain himself. After much pleading and arguing, Hogan finally agreed to let him accompany the other two. But Newkirk couldn't lift his left arm very far up, despite the fact that it was his side the tiger had injured, and that would limit his ability to throw a punch, much less aim and fire a weapon. If the trio ran into trouble on their part of the mission, the corporal could very well be a liability, rather than an asset.

Sighing, Hogan returned his concentration to the job at hand. There wasn't any point in pondering the matter further; if something happened, it would happen, and they would deal with it as it came.

They reached the clearing where they were to make contact. Hogan gestured for Kinch to stay hidden within the treeline before stepping out into the open. There he waited, peering into the trees on the opposite side, watchful for any sign of danger.

A soft whistle floated out towards him, and a figure appeared from the shadows of the forest. The man walked towards Hogan and stopped a few feet away. The two men eyed each other warily, each sizing the other up. Then the agent spoke.

"It is a cold night tonight. The bears must surely be in their dens by now."

_There it is_, thought Hogan. The first part of the identification code. _My turn_. He replied, "I'm not so sure. I believe that Papa Bear is out roaming the forest tonight."

"Then he best hurry home, for Mama Bear will be waiting for him."

The code complete, the agent stepped forward.

"Well met, Papa Bear," he said, shaking the colonel's hand. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a piece of paper.

"This here is a map of the dump," he said, unfolding it. Pointing as he spoke, he continued, "Guards are posted at the north and south entrances, but a rotation happens ever four hours, a separate one for each gate. There is a window of ten minutes when one of the entrances won't be guarded when the shifts change." He smirked. "After all, even a half-guarded ammo dump is better than an ammo dump without any guards."

Hogan grinned at him. "Yeah, where would the challenge be for my men?"

The agent chuckled, then sobered up. "It is preferable if you could eliminate it within the next three days. The Krauts are going to load up a convoy sometime in the next week, and I don't think the Russians are going to be too happy if it gets to the German troops on the Eastern Front."

"Not a problem," Hogan assured him. "Hell, we could do it tomorrow. All we need is to decide is how many charges to use and where to put them to get the biggest bang. I'll discuss it with my men when we get back to camp."

"I'm very glad to hear that."

The man re-folded the map and handed it to the colonel. "I wish you good luck, Papa Bear, though I don't really think you'll need it."

"You're right," Hogan quipped. "The Germans do."

Smirking, the man nodded in agreement, then left the clearing. Hogan watched him disappear among the trees before turning and making his way back to Kinch. The radioman fell in behind his CO as they headed back to camp. After a few minutes of silence, the sergeant finally asked, "Well?"

"Another easy one: an ammo dump this time."

Kinch sighed. "We've been getting a lot of those lately, Colonel. When will we get something a little more exciting?"

Just then, shots rang through the night. Both men froze, listening intently. Shouts sounded in the distance, echoing back to them. After a moment, Hogan relaxed somewhat. The disturbance had to be a mile from them, at least. But a twinge of worry ran through him as he thought of his men. What if something had happened?

Kinch caught his eye and nodded. They would check it out, at least. Even if Carter, LeBeau, and Newkirk weren't in trouble, whatever was upsetting the Germans could affect them. Any information they could gather would help.

They had gone perhaps a quarter of a mile before they heard anything else. And what they did hear caused both men to once again freeze for a moment.

"You know, Kinch," Hogan began. "You really shouldn't wish out loud. You might just get it."

Breaking into a run, they sprinted as fast as they could towards the source of the commotion.

In the distance, a roar rang through the air, followed by a piercing scream.

**********

Newkirk, LeBeau, and Carter made their way through the forest towards the rendezvous point. There were more patrols in this area, and they had to keep ducking down to avoid being seen. Finally, they arrived.

As Hogan and his contact had done, their agent announced himself with a whistle and exchanged code words with them.

"Do you have the package?" the man asked.

LeBeau pulled out the schedule and Carter took out the map. The agent looked confused.

"For if we are captured separately," the Frenchman explained, seeing his expression.

"All right then," Newkirk said. "There's your stuff. Now you just go kill that Kraut general and everything's just ducky for everyone, eh?"

"Except the general," Carter replied.

"Actually, there is one thing."

Everyone looked at the contact. He went on, "Two miles north of Dusseldorf, the Germans are building a ball-bearing plant. We in the Underground are wondering if you would consent to, ah, _discourage_ them from completing it?"

LeBeau glanced at his companions and replied, "We would have to talk to Papa Bear about it."

"I, for one, don't think we'll 'ave too hard a time convincin' him," Newkirk stated, smirking.

"Very well. Contact us when you have reached a decision." Giving them a slight wave, the man left.

"Boy, wouldn't it be great if we could blow up that factory?" Carter babbled excitedly. "Why, I could get some dynamite together and perhaps a bit of nitro; that would make a really big bang, dont'cha think? Wow, that would be swell, to see that factory go sky high--"

"Carter!" LeBeau exclaimed. "Do you want to get us caught with all your blabbering?"

The young man's face was immediately apologetic. "Gee, I'm sorry, LeBeau. Its just that I get really excited when--"

"Carter?"

"Yeah, Newkirk?"

"Shut yer trap."

"Oh. Sorry."

The three started off, walking in silence. It was chilly out and Newkirk shivered, clutching his coat tighter about him. He was starting to get a strong feeling of déjà vu. From what, he couldn't tell.

Suddenly, a twig cracked off to the left. The group instantly stilled. A voice called out.

"_Anschlag! Wer geht dort?_"

"Run!"

They scattered. Newkirk found himself running through a thicket, catching his clothing on brambles and branches. His side started to throb. A shot rang out, then a few more.

Looking frantically around him, he caught sight of a clump or bushes. Swerving toward them, he slowed so he could ease himself in with a minimal amount of noise.

A hand immediately clamped around his mouth. Before he could start struggling, however, a voice hissed, "Relax, its just me, _mon ami_!"

Newkirk breathed a sigh of relief as the hand was removed. "LeBeau! You get away okay?"

"_Oui_. Filthy _Bosche_ couldn't catch a turtle." He glanced behind the Englishman. "Where is Carter?"

Newkirk also looked around. The bushes were fairly thick and still had their leaves; they would be able to hide here for a while. "He isn't with you?"

LeBeau shook his head. "He was behind me at one point. I lost track of him after that."

"Damn it. We better 'ope he got away, then. Is it all clear out there?" He pressed a hand to his ribcage and gasped a bit when the action caused a throb of pain to course through him.

"What's the matter?" LeBeau studied him with concern on his face.

Newkirk shook his head, wincing. "Nothing," he croaked. "Just me side, is all. That runnin' I did stretched it a bit." Catching his friend's look, he added, "I'm fine, Louis. Really."

Unconvinced, but reassured that things were stable for the moment, the French corporal peered over the top of the bushes. Immediately, he ducked his head back down, cursing.

"What is it?"

"It's a patrol. Probably the one we ran into." He muttered angrily in French.

"Well, now, what's got your knickers in a twist?"

LeBeau gazed at him. "They have Andrew."

"What?!"

His side forgotten, Newkirk scrambled to his knees and looked over the bushes.

A patrol of six men had Cater surrounded a few feet in front of their hiding place. The sergeant himself was on his knees in the middle of the group, looking pale but determined. The leader of the patrol, a major, stood in front of him, his back to the bushes where the corporals hid. They couldn't hear what was being said, but the major didn't seem to like it because he suddenly pulled out his gun and pointed it straight at Carter's head.

Newkirk's breath caught and his vision narrowed and went blurry. He started to rise, but LeBeau grabbed his arm and pulled him down. "Newkirk!" he hissed. "Don't!"

"We can't let them shoot 'im!"

"I agree, but what can we do?" The Frenchman was staring back at the patrol, desperately trying to think of a way to rescue their friend.

Meanwhile, Newkirk was silently raging. He had to help Andrew! But LeBeau was right. What could they do? Any attempt at rescue would only result in getting all of them, including Carter, shot. He stared at the major, hatred flowing through him. He needed to stop them from killing his best mate! Carter had a gentle personality, practically a saint, which was one reason Newkirk picked on him so much. But it was also the reason why the Englander went out of his way to protect him. And now he was in danger.

And there wasn't a thing Newkirk could do about it.

He wanted to make those men pay, hurt them in the worst way possible, beat them, maim them, rip, slash, claw…kill.

Preoccupied with these thoughts, he didn't hear the tearing of his jacket and sweater as their seams ripped, didn't feel as his boots constricted then burst and fell in pieces around his feet. A low growl built up in his chest, climbed his throat, and slipped out through his teeth.

LeBeau, also, had heard nothing, he was concentrating so much on the situation in front of them. But he heard the growl. He turned towards his friend, then froze, his eyes widening.

"Sacre bleu," he breathed.

The huge cat that crouched next to him didn't pay any attention. With a mighty roar, it leaped over the bushes, a tawny blur, straight at the German patrol.

And Carter.

And Carter, having been facing those same bushes, did the only proper thing one could do when seeing a full-grown tiger charging his position.

He screamed.


	4. Chapter 3

I had to delete this. I don't understand why this won't let those greater than/less than arrows show up. Anyway, hope you like this chapter. The ending seems a little off to me, but its better than some others I came up with.

By the way, the reason Newkirk can't remember is because when you morph an animal for the first time, according to the Animorph series, the animal's mind takes over for a bit. Some people can throw it off, others take a while to snap out of it. It depends on how strong the animal's mind it. It gets easier each time. Tigers are usually easy-going, but Newkirk was raging, so he was out of it the moment he morphed.

If you've ever read the Animorph series, you'll know that when morphed, a person can communicate telepathically. For that, K.A. Applegate used the greater than/less than symbols. For some reason, they don't show up in the published version of this story, so I'll be using something different. Sorry about that.

Make _this_ my longest A/N ever. Enjoy the chapter!

* * *

Hogan and Kinch burst through the trees just in time to see a tiger pounce on the last, screaming member of the patrol, who just happened to be the major. They watched in horrified fascination as it bit down, hard, on the man's neck. The screaming stopped almost instantly. The big cat shook the body for a moment, making sure it was dead, before dropping it. It looked around, then turned to the only person left.

Andrew Carter.

Immediately, Hogan pulled his gun out and look aim. Like hell would he let some animal kill one of his own men!

"_Mon Colonel_, no!" LeBeau appeared in front of him, spoiling his aim. "No, Colonel, don't shoot!"

"Get out of the way, LeBeau!"

"No Colonel, you mustn't shoot! _Vous ne pouvez pas, vous ne pouvez pas tirer ce chat!_" The corporal was so upset, he slipped into French.

Desperate to stop the tiger before it reached Carter, Hogan tried to step around the agitated Frenchman. "LeBeau!"

"No, _mon Colonel_, you can't!"

"Give me one good reason why not!"

Gulping for air, the corporal said, "_Puisque le tigre est __réellement __Newkirk!_"

"What?"

"I said, the tiger is Newkirk!"

**********

His brain seemed to be in a fog. But the hunt was successful. His prey was dead. Yet, he didn't feel like feeding on it. That was odd; why hunt if he didn't want to eat? It was a waste of good meat.

As he looked around, he scented the air. Blood was the strongest scent. But there was also something else…

He turned around.

Another of the prey sat there, too frightened to move. An easy kill. He could practically taste the fear radiating from it. However, as he stalked towards it, a strange thought came to him. He didn't want to kill it. But why shouldn't he? He was the hunter, it was the prey. He really ought to kill it.

As he drew closer, the prey let out a squeak and fell back, frantically scuttling away.

_No. Don't be afraid._

He stopped. What was that? A strange little voice.

_Why is he afraid? I just saved him!_

Louder now, and really annoying. He shook his head, trying to get rid of the voice.

_No, this isn't me! Let me go!_

He looked again at the prey. He saw the wide eyes, the fear and panic written on his face. Andrew…?

_Andrew? Don't hurt Andrew! This isn't me! I'm Peter! Peter Newkirk!_

With a snap, Newkirk's mind cleared. _What just happened?_ He looked around, studying his surroundings. The remains of the patrol were scattered everywhere. The smell of blood and death seemed to hang in the air; each time he breathed, he imagined he could taste it. Flies were already gathering on the dead. They sounded really loud, though…

He looked back at Carter. Why was he so frightened? And what had happened to the patrol? His mind was a blank. The last thing he remembered was hiding in the bushes with LeBeau.

_**Carter? You okay?**_

The sergeant's eyes got, if it were possible, even bigger. They now seemed to take up his whole face.

Concerned, Newkirk stepped towards him. The young man whimpered, then started crabwalking backward--_away_ from the corporal.

**_What's wrong, Andrew?_** Confusion swept through the Englishman. **_What happened here?_**

Carter just continued staring at him. Gradually, Newkirk became aware of the sound of shouting, coming from behind him. He turned around.

Hogan stood behind him, next to the bushes where he and LeBeau had hid. He had his gun out and pointed straight at Newkirk.

The Englander froze, fear mixed with the confusion. Why was the Colonel aiming a gun at him? LeBeau was standing between the gun and him, though, preventing Hogan from firing. Kinch stood just behind Hogan, staring at Newkirk like he had grown an extra head. As he took this in, he began to make out what was being said, or rather, shouted, by the Colonel and LeBeau.

"LeBeau!"

"No, _mon Colonel_, you can't!"

"Give me one good reason why not!"

"_Puisque le tigre est __réellement __Newkirk!_"

"What?"

"I said, the tiger is Newkirk!"

Hogan's second "What?!" was drowned out by Newkirk's much louder **_WHAT?!_** causing everyone to look at him. But he wasn't paying attention. He had looked down at his feet.

And saw two paws.

Frantic, he twisted, not bent, his head to see down the length of his body.

Orange and black fur, two hind legs, and a tail were the sights that met his eyes. Eyes which saw a lot better in the dark than a human's did. No wonder he saw Kinch so easily.

He turned back to look at the other men, who were in turn staring at him.

**_I'm a tiger._**

"Newkirk?" Hogan asked, cautious and incredulous at the same time.

_**Yes, sir?**_

"You can talk?"

**_You can hear me?_**

"Yesssss…" The colonel drew the word out, still not believing what was happening.

**_Oh. That's interesting, I suppose._** Newkirk's voice was calm, but also devoid of any emotion. He looked idly around the woods, as though bored. **_Colonel?_** he asked.

"Yes?"

His eyes snapped to his CO's face, blazing. _**WHAT THE BLOODY HELL HAPPENED TO ME???**_ His mental shout rang through the POWs' minds, making them all flinch.

Hogan was flabbergasted. The tiger in front of him, a.k.a. his English corporal, was now in a crouched position, ears flat, claws kneading the ground, tail lashing. His fur was visibly standing on end. Hogan wasn't so shocked that he didn't recognize an angry cat when he saw one.

He replied, "Newkirk, just stay calm a minute and we'll--"

**_Calm? CALM? Colonel, I've just turned into a ruddy tiger! How can I stay CALM?!_**

"Newkirk--"

The tiger started to pace. **_I suppose I'm the one who killed these Krauts, is that right?_**

"Well, yes, but--"

**_By myself?_**

"Yes, but--"

**_I just took on a whole patrol by myself, as a tiger! How did I do it? I clawed and bit them, right? Ripped them apart in cold blood! I practically did it with my bare hands! If only I did have hands! But no, I have PAWS!_**

Hogan was beside himself. How could he solve this? Despite the bizarreness of it all, the colonel knew he couldn't have Newkirk falling to pieces now. Other patrols were bound to have heard all the commotion and they had to get back to camp before one came to investigate. Hell, one could already be on its way. He had to snap Newkirk out of his shock quickly. He could fall apart later, when they were safe.

As the corporal continued to rant and pace, Hogan finally decided on a course of action. Steeling himself so as not to lose his nerve, he strode right up to Newkirk and planted himself in front of him. As soon as he was close enough, he pulled back his arm and punched the pacing cat square on the nose.

Immediately, he felt his legs fly out from underneath him and he landed hard on his back. The breath whooshed out of him. The next thing he knew, a giant paw was planted on his chest and he was looking straight into the golden eyes of a snarling tiger.

The blood left his face. _It's not really a tiger; this is Newkirk, for crying out loud!_ Still, those teeth looked awfully sharp…

_He won't hurt me. He _can't_ hurt me._

The eyes blinked, then seemed to soften. The eyes (and teeth) disappeared and the paw was removed. Hogan stayed still a moment longer, recovering his breath, then sat up.

Newkirk sat a good ten feet away, head down. Carefully, because his ribs were aching from the weight behind the paw, Hogan got up and crossed over to him. He knelt until he was eye level with the Englander.

"Newkirk?"

An ear flicked, but the head remained bowed.

"Newkirk, I promise, you can go numb once we get back to camp, but until then you have to hold it together, understand?"

Newkirk looked up and gazed at him for a long moment. Then he nodded. **_Aye, sir. Until we get back to camp._**

Hogan sighed in relief. "Thank you." He looked around at the rest of the men. LeBeau was staring in awe at the great cat that Newkirk had become. Kinch stared and muttered to himself. The phrase "Holy cats" could be heard every once in a while. And Carter…

Hogan searched the shadows until he could make out a form slumped against a tree. He quickly made his way over to it.

Carter lay, unconscious, against the tree trunk. He was pale, and his breathing came fast and shallow. The colonel shook his head.

_Poor kid_, he thought. _What a night. Captured by a patrol, charged by a tiger, then finding out that tiger is actually your best friend._ He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. _He must've fainted from the shock of it all. Not that I blame him any._

"Kinch!" he called, gesturing the sergeant over. The radioman made his way towards him, skirting Newkirk, and helped the colonel lift the comatose young man from the ground.

"LeBeau, scout around. See if anymore patrols are on their way."

The small corporal nodded then, with a glance at Newkirk, ran off between the trees.

Hogan gazed once more at the tiger, meeting his eyes. Confusion shone there, as well as a bit of fear, but under control.

"C'mon, Newkirk," he said. "We'll figure this out back at camp."

**_Will we, gov? Will we really figure this out?_**

Hogan never broke eye contact. He held Newkirk's gaze and let him see the truth for himself.


	5. Chapter 4

I'm drawing on a lot of information from the Warriors series, by Erin Hunter, to describe most of the tiger's reactions and how things are perceived by it. So, yeah, credit to them.

Umm...okay, I mainly focused on how Newkirk is dealing with all of this and how he adjusts to his...predictament. Sorry if its kinda boring; I tried to liven it up a little. The main action will come in either the next chapter or the one after that, so hang in there!

Enjoy and tell me how you like it!

Oh, and sorry about any contradictions you may find; its hard separating Newkirk from the tiger.

* * *

He trotted alongside the colonel through the forest, his paws making no sound, while Hogan and Kinch supported Carter. The younger sergeant had started to come to, but still leaned heavily on the two men. Newkirk made sure he was on Hogan's free side, so as not to upset his friend. That was probably the worst part of the whole mess.

_Andrew's afraid of me._

_Well, who wouldn't be? Bloody 'ell, I'm afraid of me!_

_He knows I wouldn't hurt him._

_He saw you take out a German patrol, as a tiger of all things, and that wasn't a pretty sight._

_But still…_

_But nothing._

LeBeau came back and reported only two patrols in the vicinity. They changed direction to avoid them, and LeBeau fell in alongside Newkirk.

The corporals dropped back a bit as they neared the camp.

"Newkirk, _mon ami_, how are you holding up?"

_**I'm fine, LeBeau.**_ The Englander's voice sounded soft, as though he were trying to whisper. But his words, mentally spoken, resounded through the minds of everyone in their little group. Hogan and Kinch sped up their pace to give them some more privacy, Carter stumbling along between them.

The Frenchman threw a grateful look after them, then turned back to the big cat padding at his side.

"You've been pretty quiet," he went on.

Newkirk threw him a sidelong glance. _**I think I 'ave a good reason to be, all things considered.**_

LeBeau hummed a quiet agreement and silence fell between them. After a few moments, he asked, "What are you thinking?"

His companion was silent for a while. Then he answered. _**Andrew.**_

"Ah."

_**He was so scared of me, Louis.**_

Not knowing how to respond to that, LeBeau waited for him to continue.

_**I saw his face, after I killed that major. The fear and panic…That's what brought me back, I think.**_

"What do you mean?"

Another glance. _**You don't really think I was in control the entire time, do you?**_

The French corporal stopped walking, startled. Newkirk also stopped, and faced him.

_**I don't know what 'appened**_, he went on. _**I get flashes, but not the whole thing. It was like I was pushed aside and became a spectator to my body's actions. When I saw the look on Andrew's face…my mind just seemed to…clear. I had been seriously considering killin' him, Louie!**_ He looked away and continued walking, head bowed, his tail dragging on the ground. LeBeau hurried to catch up.

"Then what I saw, back there…was that…" he trailed off.

_**That wasn't ol' Peter Newkirk, mate. That was the tiger.**_

LeBeau remained silent as he digested that information, then reached out and laid a hand on the tiger's head.

Newkirk stopped and looked up at him, whiskers twitching. LeBeau smiled at him.

"That's in the past now, _mon ami_. Don't worry about it anymore. We just need to get to camp and figure out how to change you back." He gave the head a few pats.

They resumed walking, LeBeau absentmindedly stroking the cat's fur.

_**You have no idea how odd that feels, mate**_, Newkirk commented.

"Sorry. Should I stop?"

_**No. It's nice, actually. Comforting.**_ He pressed against the Frenchman's leg, a soft rumble coming from him. LeBeau chuckled as he realized what it was: Newkirk was purring!

_**Tell anybody and I'm comin' after you.**_

"My lips are sealed."

They continued on and soon caught up with Hogan and the others at the stump. The colonel and Kinch had stopped to rest after carrying Carter, who was sitting next to the radioman, his back against the aforementioned tunnel entrance, fully awake now. His eyes widened as he took in the odd pair approaching them.

"That's really Newkirk?" he asked, looking to Hogan for confirmation.

"Yup," the colonel replied, not bothering to hide the grin that spread across his face at the sight of his two corporals, Louis with Newkirk leaning against him as they walked, and a hand gripping the Englander's fur.

LeBeau felt Newkirk's purr falter at the sight of Carter and gave him a gentle push. "Go on," he said.

The Englishman glanced at him, but said nothing, before padding over to the young sergeant. Kinch shifted nervously as he approached, but didn't move away.

_**Andrew?**_

Carter blinked. "Yeah, Newkirk?"

The golden gaze latched onto the other's blue. _**You okay?**_

He nodded. "I am now."

The tiger's ears twitched to the side. _**I'm so sorry, Andrew.**_

Again, the man blinked. "For what?"

_**For you 'aving to see that…back there. For upsettin' you.**_

"I'm sorry you had to do that."

_**It's not like I had a choice**_, the corporal went on bitterly. _**They were gonna kill you.**_

"But they didn't--thanks to you." Carter cut in before Newkirk could get worked up. He took a breath, but before he could speak, everyone had to duck to avoid the beam of a searchlight. As soon as it passed, he continued.

"Newkirk, you saved me. You had to do an unpleasant thing to do so, but the end result is the same. I am alive because of you. And I think I should be the one apologizing. I didn't exactly react very well."

_**I don't really blame you**_, came the quiet reply. _**Nobody could possibly react very well to this, me included.**_

"Still," the sergeant continued, "When you tried to help me, after…you know…I should've known better. I'm sorry for that."

**_Its okay, Andrew. I forgive you for that. Can you forgive me?_** His voice was anxious.

Carter gave a soft smile. "Things like this happen all the time. There's nothing to forgive."

Newkirk remained silent for a few moments, then looked up and glanced around at his friends, a mischievous glint in his eyes. _**So people turn into tigers all the time when tryin' to save their mates, is that it? **_

Everyone gave a chuckle at that, then hit the dirt to avoid another searchlight.

"Good to know you haven't lost you sense of humor, at least," Hogan remarked after it passed.

_**Nope, that's safe. As for my dashing good looks, however…**_ The Englander faked indignation, as though that one loss was a personal affront to him.

"Oh, I don't know," LeBeau replied thoughtfully. "Most women tend to be cat lovers."

Newkirk scowled at him as they all laughed. The look was twice more forbidding than any he had ever done as his normal self, but no one stopped.

"Okay people," Hogan cut the moment short. "Much as I would prefer to stand around trading wisecracks with you clowns, we need to get a move on. Newkirk," he turned to the corporal. "I want you to head over to the Number Four tunnel, while the rest of us will enter here. Wait there until I send someone to let you in."

Kinch spoke up at that. "The Number Four, Colonel?" he asked.

Hogan looked at his puzzled men (and tiger) with an amused expression. "C'mon, you guys. Do you really think Newkirk will fit through the stump?"

Everybody looked to Newkirk, who gave a snort. _**Didn't think of that, gov.**_

"Course you didn't," Hogan grinned. "That's why I'm the one with the wings."

The Number Four tunnel was made in order to move items which came in bigger crating, namely weapons and ammunition. Because of this, it was the tallest and widest tunnel they've dug. It was also located on the other side of the camp, and was further out than the emergency tunnel, so the POWs wouldn't be seen when receiving or sending off supplies. All in all, a perfect place when trying to get a tiger into the camp.

Newkirk nodded. _**See you below**_, he said, then turned and vanished between the trees. Another spotlight swept over them, and once more they kept low. When it had passed, the colonel addressed the rest of his men.

"Carter, do you need any help?" he asked.

"I can manage, Colonel."

"Good. Okay, lets get moving. We don't want to keep Newkirk waiting."

As he held the entrance open for the others, Hogan glanced towards the spot where Newkirk disappeared. Despite the Englander's teasing banter, he knew that it was just a cover to hide his true feelings.

_I don't envy him in dealing with them_, he thought. _Who know when, if ever, we can put this right._

**********

Newkirk padded through the woods, quietly making his way to the tunnel entrance. As he walked, he learned more about his new body.

Excellent eyesight gave sharp details on where to place his paws on the debris-strewn ground, and quicker reflexes helped him avoid collisions with sudden low branches or tightly packed bushes. Even his hearing was upped a few notches; snapping twigs were like gun shots, and bird calls were deafeningly loud.

What really floored him, though, was his sense of smell. Scents came to him from all around, making him feel almost as if he were drowning in them. A few he could recognize, here and there: sap from a cluster of pine trees off to his left, stinging his nose with its sharp aroma, and a trace of honey from a bee's nest behind him, faint because the bees were currently hibernating. Other scents were unfamiliar to him, but familiar to the tiger.

The smell of grasses and dirt accompanied by a pounding heartbeat: rabbit. The stench of carrion and light breathing: a fox. Berries and rock and dirt, slow lumbering pawsteps: bear. By breathing through his mouth, he discovered, the scents became stronger; it was as if he were literally _tasting_ the air.

As Newkirk walked, he found himself sorting this information almost unconsciously, after a while. Now, as he leaped over a stream without effort and landed gracefully and on the other side, he wondered why he had been so upset earlier.

_Other than the fact that people aren't s'posed to turn into tigers?_

It was interesting, the Englander had to admit, but he wanted to be himself again. After all, what use was he as a tiger? He couldn't sew uniforms anymore, couldn't forge papers, couldn't pick the lock on Klink's safe…then there was the fact that he didn't know if he could even _become_ human again. What if he were stuck like this forever?

_Well, you could always join the circus._

His fur seemed to itch just thinking about not becoming…well, himself again. He paused while bounding across a rocky outcropping to give himself a shake. _No use dwellin' on this. What's done is done, and you're no good to anyone depressed. You'd spend better time trying to find a way to undo this._

He reached the clump of bracken that covered the entrance to the Number Four tunnel. Glancing around at the surrounding trees, Newkirk wondered idly how long he would have to wait before someone would let him in. So he settled himself against a nearby tree to wait.

Out of curiosity, he tasted the air. He didn't really expect to find anything important--maybe a couple of squirrels or deer--so it was a shock when he managed to pick up a familiar smell: apple strudel.

_That 'as to be ol' Shultzie_, he thought. _Must've passed by with a patrol._ Further investigation revealed two other scents laced with Shultz's. The trail seemed pretty strong. Newkirk wondered briefly if that was because Shultz had stuffed himself on it before going on patrol or if it was because the patrol had just gone past. He figured it was a mixture of both. Shultz had needed more encouragement than usual to switch his patrol to another route for the night.

And that route evidently led straight past the Number Four tunnel entrance.

The strudel scent became stronger as Newkirk sat, lost in thought. The sound of booted feet caused him to immediately scramble up the tree next to him, which was, thankfully, a sturdy oak. He was still settling himself on a fairly high branch when the patrol came into view.

Shultz, Corporal Langenscheidt, and Corporal Hoffman stopped under Newkirk's tree so the rotund sergeant could catch his breath. He staggered over to a nearby log and sat, motioning Hoffman over to hold his rifle.

The Englander slowly settled his full weight on the branch and flinched inwardly as it creaked. Langenscheidt, standing directly beneath him, looked up.

Newkirk held his breath. Could the corporal see him? He really couldn't tell; since his eyes had much better night vision now, he had no idea how dark it was to the man below. For all he knew, he was in plain view of Langenscheidt's searching gaze.

He waited for widening eyes, a paling face, or a shout. But there was nothing. After a bit, Langenscheidt stopped his search with a slight shrug and turned his attention back to the sergeant, who had regained his feet. But Newkirk could see that the corporal was tense, as though expecting an attack.

_Just like me with the tiger_, he realized suddenly.

The patrol left, with Shultz and Hoffman chatting amiably, and Langenscheidt at a ready alertness. The RAF corporal waited until the footsteps faded, then jumped back to the ground.

Shortly after, Kinch came to let him in the tunnel.


End file.
